


savo tradicijas

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [21]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Decorating the Tree, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: The sharp and refreshing scent of fir mingles with the sweet sound of a girl’s laughter, both kindling her senses in tandem with the crackling fireplace, as her eyes contemplate the picturesque scene enfolding in front of her.





	savo tradicijas

It is not something Bedelia has considered would ever take a special place in her heart. Until it did, so unexpectedly, slipping pass her armour and settling in like the cordial warmth now permanently residing within her.

The sharp and refreshing scent of fir mingles with the sweet sound of a girl’s laughter, both kindling her senses in tandem with the crackling fireplace, as her eyes contemplate the picturesque scene enfolding in front of her. The larger than needed tree fills the middle of the room while Hannibal with their daughter in his arms work on decorating it. He holds her steady as eager hands place ornaments on the higher branches. As soon as she hangs the last one, Hannibal turns around to retrieve more, making Mira laugh at the sudden movement, tiny arms wrapping around his neck as he leans forward. A smile appears on Bedelia’s lips as she watches them; she knows Hannibal would never let go of their daughter, the same way he has kept her safe all these years. They return to the tree and Mira’s hands abandon Hannibal’s neck, keen to continue their task. White stars of various shapes and sizes materialise amongst the vivid green, intricate designs of straw which they spent all day making.

Mira was more than delighted to finally be able to make decorations of her own and Hannibal happily shared his traditions with their daughter. Now all stars are proudly displayed on the branches, Hannibal’s detailed ones and Mira’s smaller ones alike. Bedelia’s gaze falls on her own contribution to the tree: wooden angels she painted together with Mira.

“They look like us,” their daughter pronounced, referring to the golden hair of two finished figures, which promptly encouraged Hannibal to adapt a new term of endearment, making Mira laugh and Bedelia raise an incredulous eyebrow.

The trees seem to have been growing together with the selection of the ornaments, getting taller each year, especially with the influence of Mira.

“The tree must be big, so the spring might come sooner,” she insisted this year, her own interpretation of the solstice tradition which made Hannibal smile and give in without protest, unable to deny her anything.

Despite her initial reservations, Bedelia found it rather entertaining, observing as Hannibal attempted to bring the tree inside and set it in its current position.

Now as the higher branches look festive enough, Mira makes Hannibal put her down and turns her attention to the lower tiers. She waves Hannibal away as he stands in her way between the table of decorations and the tree. Bedelia swallows a chuckle as he retreats to stand beside her.

“Were you spirited as a child?” Bedelia asks, watching their daughter dash around the tree with fervour, only pausing briefly to scrutinise the placement of new ornaments and make necessary alignments.

“No, I was rather reserved,” he responds, turning his head to look at her, a knowing smile on his lips. The remaining of the conversation passes silently between their eyes. For all the words they exchanged during the many years, they had never had much need for them, and have even less now. Hannibal knows she is reflecting on their daughter; Mira might be a part of them, but she is already very much her own person.

“As was I,” Bedelia says, her voice trailing off as she tilts her head in further contemplation, still watching their daughter, so much like them and so unlike them at the same time.

She wonders if she is able to give her what she needs, not having the same experiences. She wonders if she is enough.

Hannibal’s fingers gently brush the hair off her cheek as though wanting to whisk her worries away. But her thoughts remain unuttered as Mira approaches them with a big star in her hands.

“Would you like to put the star on the top, Mama?” she extends the offering towards Bedelia.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do it yourself?” Bedelia asks, taking the star from her grip. It is more than familiar to her, the first decoration Hannibal ever made after they moved here. The straw ornament is delicate but surprisingly long lasting, a fitting metaphor for their lives, Bedelia thinks.

“No, I want you to do it,” Mira states firmly as she ushers them all closer to the tree.

Bedelia’s gaze flickers towards the high top of the fir, then immediately lands on the step ladder standing by its side but so far unused.

“Papa can lift you,” Mira announces factually, seeing her deliberation, a recommendation no doubt based on her own productive time spent in his arms.

Hannibal’s eyes light up at once.

“No, thank you,” she dims his spark at once, “I can manage.”

She pushes the ladder closer and takes a step up. The ladder shakes slightly, but once she climbs the second board, it remains still; even without looking, she knows Hannibal is holding it firmly. Upon having reached the top, she pauses, gazing at the star in her hand; how strange it is to have cultivated holiday customs and cherish them. And she does so with every moment that they get to spend together.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, she finally puts the star on its assigned spot and hears Mira clap with joy. She tries to shake off her unforeseen nostalgia as she makes her way down but then stops a few steps above the ground and leans back ever so slightly. Hannibal’s arms wrap around her waist at once and he holds her close for a brief moment, before setting her down gently, both of them smiling. And so is their daughter, pleased that Bedelia took her stellar advice after all.

“You did a wonderful job with the decorations,” Bedelia now turns to Mira, stroking her hair lovingly, “I think you deserve a treat. _Chocolat chaud,_ _peut_ - _être?_ _”_ she adds and Mira’s face beams with relish.

She gathers her daughter closer as they stand together, admiring the tree. Hannibal’s lips press softly against Bedelia’s temple and he proceeds to whisper words of tenderness in her ear.

“You are everything,” his voice vibrates in shiver against her skin.

And she knows that to be true. They need nothing more than to make traditions of their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Mira's name courtesy of awayfromsight.   
> The title means "traditions of their own". The straw decorations are traditional in Lithuania. I was trying not to make it too Christmas-specific, but have them embrace varied traditions to make it theirs. And as always, trying not to overdo the fluff, but that is up for debate.  
> Happy winter solstice and holidays from the Lecter family!


End file.
